A Mentor's Burden
by Naidhe
Summary: Young Tom Riddle watches Dumbledore set his wardrobe on fire and thinks it's the coolest thing ever. From that point on, Tom only wishes to become a man as great as his Professor. Dumbledore really, really doesn't know how to deal with the little psycho kid following him around.
1. Into Diagon Alley

**Warnings: **Half-dark, half-crack.

**Disclaimer:** Everything Harry Potter belongs to J. and to whomever she's sold the rights to (which, sadly, doesn't include me).

This was initially an idea I posted in the Reddit thread "plot idea you know you'll never write." Ironic, I know. It will be posted as a series of short drabbles and snippets into the life of Tom Riddle, star pupil, future Transfigurations master, and president of the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club (the APWBDFC, for short).

Thanks to u/randy_randy_rando on Reddit for providing a title for this. Thanks to u/Raven3182 on Reddit for giving life to this idea, and check out their work in ffn playing with the same concept: Dumbledore's Man Through and Through, by Raven3182.

* * *

**The Fiery Cabinet**

The odd man – a doctor, he first thinks – walks in. He sputters some nonsense about _special_ kids. Tom Rolls his eyes. He knows he's special, but not in the way these people –

Then he sets his cupboard on fire.

It's taken him four years of exhausting practice to make objects move, and while it is rewarding to drop them on Billy Stubbs' head, it can't hold a candle to Professor Dumbledore's power.

Like, _fire_.

Coolest. Thing. Ever.

Tom thinks he mentions something about not stealing other people's stuff, but he's too busy checking out the flames to pay proper attention. Like – who wouldn't?

* * *

**The Professor's Fame**

"Ah, yes. A great man, Dumbledore," Tom the bartender says as he dries a cup with a rag dirtier than Mrs Cole's floors. "Very powerful wizard."

Tom nods along, unsurprised the Professor's fame has reached the corners of every dingy little pub in Britain. After all, if Tom could set cupboards on fire – on _fire_ – with a flick of his wand, he'd be just as admired.

The Professor told him to speak to the bartender to get to Diagon Alley. Tom follows as the old man taps the wall with his wand, and it opens to a world of magic. Ah, how wonderful, the sight of His World, full of people like him and his Professor.

Well, of people not-so-very-much-inferior to his Professor.

Tom walks into the Alley and quickly searches for a bookstore.

"Ah, Professor Dumbledore," says the chubby store attendant. "Great man, great man. You're interested, I see?"

Tom nods earnestly. If only he could be as cool as Professor Dumbledore… Stupid Billy Stubbs would learn some respect if Tom set _his_ cupboard on fire.

"You'll want to check Nicholas Flamel's biography," the attendant tells him, "as well as _Rise of the Modern Wizard_, and _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, and –"

And Tom's pile of books grows taller than himself as his eyes grow almost too big for his head. He _knew_ it. The Professor isn't like other wizards. He's in tons of books. Everyone knows of his greatness.

Ah, Tom will one day be just like him.

Thank God he's stolen enough money from Mrs Cole's purse to buy the whole lot.

* * *

**The Best Wand**

Ollivander talks on and on as his measuring tape moves on its own. Is the distance between his nostrils truly relevant? This middle-aged man must be a charlatan; where's the real shop owner? At one point, however, he does say something interesting.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Riddle, and –"

"Do you truly?" he interrupts, and Ollivander jumps in surprise at his sudden vehemence. "Did you sell Professor Dumbledore's?"

Ollivander frowns, but still answers.

"Ebony, fourteen inches, phoenix-feather core. As I was saying –"

"I want one just like that!"

"It doesn't work like this, Mr Riddle. Weren't you listening? The wand choses its master."

That's not how _mastery_ works, he thinks. A master gets his stuff to do what he says. Tom doesn't like this man.

He brings out wand after wand and none is even remotely similar to what he's described. It's all yew and beech and aspen and dragon-heart string. Unicorn hair, he even gives him – Tom doesn't need a mastery in wandmaking to know he's not a _unicorn_ kind of boy.

Finally, one of them feels warm and powerful and like he's coming home. Tom's never felt like that before.

"Interesting," Ollivander says. "Very interesting."

Tom sighs, and plays along. "What is?"

"You see, the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand only ever gave two. It also happens to be Albus Dumbledore's phoenix.

Tom almost faints at the knowledge. He knew he was special! He will be just like Professor Dumbledore. He's destined for this.

He's the Chosen One.

"How much for the other one?"

Who needs a cauldron and robes? He'll go without.

"Mr Riddle… It _really_ doesn't work like this."

Yes, Tom definitely hates the man.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll keep on adding short scenes as I get the inspiration for them. Feel free to throw in your own ideas on the comment section.


	2. Into the Express

**The First Spell**

Tom arrives early enough to get a compartment all to himself. He sits next to the window and props Flamel's biography, _The Alchemy of Life_, open on his lap. He skips the first twenty chapters until he reaches his favourite: _Mentoring the Dauntless Dumbledore_. Tom knows the chapter by heart, but will never get tired of re-reading it.

One day, when Professor Dumbledore's biography comes out, there will be a chapter on how he mentored the Relentless Riddle.

His fantasizing of him and his Professor dauntlessly and relentlessly pursuing their enemies gets interrupted by a pointy blond kid opening the door. He strolls in like he owns the place, followed by four other boys that look to be about his age. Tom can tell they're rich at first glance – they move and talk and laugh all unlike him.

"Ugh, a mudblood, isn't it?" one of them says.

It's a mean word, Tom knows. He's heard it thrown at him around Diagon Alley.

"Hey, you," calls another one, "scram."

Tom raises his head and concentrates _very_ hard on getting his eyes to twinkle. It either doesn't work, or the dim-witted kids have never met his future mentor, the greatest wizard alive, and don't recognize the warning.

"Kid's not too bright," blond and pointy says. "Bet you he'll end up in Hufflepuff."

Now, _that's_ offensive.

"I'll be a Gryffindor," Tom declares proudly, "like Professor Dumbledore."

Pointy snorts.

"Of course you'd want to be like that mudblood-loving murtlap."

Tom's doesn't mind being a mudblood if that means he's loved by his Professor. But _murtlap_? Unforgivable.

He unsheathes his brand-new wand in a quick swish. He's never used his wand to cast – forbidden, Professor Dumbledore had explained, until reaching the Hogwarts Express – but he has no doubt he'll succeed. He's a genius, after all.

He casts a _flippendo_ at him and the kid gets pushed to the ground, shrieking like Amy Benson at her worst. The rest of them gasp and take a step back. One reaches for his wand, but Tom disarms him easily.

"Come sit," he orders.

* * *

**The First Pupils**

Tom looks at the scrawniest of the lot, who's somehow drawn the short straw and is sitting by his side. The kid gulps, nervous. The whole atmosphere reminds him of the Orphanage, and Tom congratulates himself on his quick adaptation to the ways of the magical world.

"C'mon, Thoros. We've been over this."

"Professor Dumbledore is a Grand Sorcerer in Charms, Alchemy and Transfigurations," he answers hesitantly. "And he's most famous for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood."

"Correct," Tom beams. "Abraxas, which scholarly journals has he published in?"

Blond and pointy fidgets, but he manages an answer. "_Transfiguration Today_, _Challeneges in Charming_ and _The Practical Potioneer_."

Tom sighs.

"Those are only the most well-known... You've forgotten _Advancements in Arithmancy_, _Trending Topics in Transfiguration_, _Modern Takes on Magical Theory_ and _Annals of Alchemy_."

These kids are unfit of being taught by the greatest mind of the century. Even Dennis Bishop – Dumb Dennis – has better memorization skills.

"Ertan, what's Professor Dumbledore's full name?"

Ertan looks like he would rather jump out the window than answer, and Tom prepares himself for yet another devastating disappointment. Just another proof of the Professor's greatness, that he has the skill and patience to teach this bunch of little brick-heads.

"Albus… Wulfric… Brian?"

"You forgot Percival," Argo corrects him, and earns a brilliant smile from Tom.

Smiles will have to do until he learns how to twinkle warmly.

"Good, good. And, the final question – What house do we want to join?"

"Gryffindor," the kids chorus all together.

Of course, after reviewing all of the Professor's life accomplishments, who wouldn't?

"I expect to see you all there."

The kids are looking rather pale. Must be nervous about the first day of school, Tom thinks. How childish.

* * *

**The Chocolate Frogs**

Argo Avery and Abraxas Malfoy have bought out about half of the Trolley Witch's trolley, and they hurry to offer Tom part of their treats. Tom's glad to see they've bonded over their admiration of Professor Dumbledore.

"Ugh," Abraxas complains, "Archibald Alderton again."

"That's got to be one of the worst."

"I've ten of him," Ertan Rosier adds. "I've only more of Dumbledore, mind you."

Thoros Nott sends Ertan a rather intense look, and he goes whiter still. Tom, though, is otherwise preoccupied.

"Dumbledore?" he asks.

"Er – yeah. His Famous Wizards and Witches Cards' card."

Tom eyes the chocolate frogs he's been ignoring in favour of salty treats. He takes one. Every boy in the tiny compartment is holding his breath. Tom has a hunch, though – him and Professor Dumbledore are _fated_. If someone's going to get his card on the first try, that's him.

"Oh," croaks Thoros over his shoulder, "Derwent Shimpling! That's a recent addition."

Tom's left eye twitches.

Well, if he finds it today, it still counts as in his first time eating chocolate frogs.

Glover Hipworth.

Dymphna Furmage.

Ethelred the Ever-Ready.

Xavier Rastrick.

If Tom eats another disgustingly sweet chocolate frog he's going to be sick.

"Here," he tells Argo as he hands him the next one to eat.

Lady Carmilla Sanguina.

Tom's eye twitches again.

The kids take a look at his face and all get their own frogs.

Twenty cards later, Tom tells himself that the best things in life one has to struggle for.

* * *

**A/N:** I add here a comment to the reddit prompt by u/sfinebyme (author BreezyWheeze on AO3, with their authorization) for extra crack. Not considered part of my story.

"Mr. Riddle, would you please explain exactly _why_ there's a seventy-foot long basilisk, wearing darkened aviator goggles, residing in an unused classroom on the third floor?"

"Well, after Miss Warren accidentally died to it, I had to conjure the aviator goggles and black them out to prevent any further deaths."

"NOT what I was really asking, Tom, and I think you know that."

"Well, the basilisk is really only the first trial."

"First..." Dumbledore's face somehow turned even _more_ baffled.

"Yeah. I snuck into the offices for the Ministry's Department of Education and stole copies of this year's upcoming OWL and NEWT exams for every subject. I then let the rumour get around about there being a treasure beyond value, and it being hidden behind a source of certain death."

"You wha...?"

"So then I set up a series of trials that any really competent and/or inhumanly lucky student could get through. After all, to get past the snake you just have hiss at it in a mimicry of Parseltongue and you can stroll right by.

"Then there's the Brazilian Paralyzing Sporepod Tentacles that will kill you in twenty seconds, but that's not really much of a trial since you can easily subdue it with fiendfyre. After that a relatively simple flying challenge that only requires successfully executing 23 consecutive Wronski feints, followed by..."

Here Dumbledore interrupted, "...fiendfyre...?"

"Yes, sir, please do keep up, we're already past that. After the demonstration of flying skill, you can move into the next room where you have to play a flawless game of Go on a 29 x 29 grid. Of course the standard is 19 x 19, but that seemed a little too elementary for magicals. And to give it some zest, you lose a limb for every point you lose the game by. After that is the room with the dragon which I... er... _liberated_ from Gringott's, followed by a simple logic puzzle involving the Traveling Salesman Problem, all wrapping up with a room containing a boggart, Dementor, lethifold, niffler, nundu, and a dozen red caps. It's simple, really, you just have to get the niffler to give up the little golden orb containing the stolen exams without letting the nundu eat the red caps, or else..."

"MISTER RIDDLE! WHY ON EARTH HAVE YOU DONE THIS?!"

Tom looked down, eyes beginning to tear. In a tiny voice he muttered, "because it seemed like something you would do..."


	3. Gryfffsstherin

**The Sorting**

Tom is deeply disappointed as first Avery, then Nott, then Malfoy and then Mulciber all get sorted into Slytherin. He glares in their direction, and they fidget in their green ties.

"Riddle, Tom," Professor Dumbledore calls.

The Professor smiles down at him kindly as he places the old, battered hat on his head. Tom beams back, ready to make him proud – he'll become one mighty Gryffindor!

'_Well_,' says an amused voice inside his head, '_will you really?_'

Tom is startled by it. The idea of something else inside his head makes him oddly uncomfortable, even if it's just a crumpled old hat.

'_Crumpled_?' it says. '_I'll have you know – I look fantastic for my age_.'

'_My, certainly._' Tom tries for flattery, even though the hat looks like an old, dirty rag. It's never a good idea to anger one who holds your future in its… brim?

'_Boy, I read minds – I can hear your scheming_,' it says. '_And must I say, what a very Slytherin attempt_.'

Tom panics.

'_No_!' he begs. '_A very brave thing to do!_ _A truly cunning man would never try to trick a mind reader – I'm very non-Slytherin. And red is my favourite colour. And gold – well, who doesn't like gold?_'

'_A skill for rhetoric and ambition for riches, I see. There's really no doubt_ –'

'_What, you think Gryffindors don't want money? Are you hearing yourself?_'

'_No better place for you…'_

'_No, no, no! NO!'_

"Better be –"

'_Listen you glorified dustcloth, you put me in Gryffindor or I'll use your patched, pointy self to make Mrs Cole a pair of knickers!_'

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellows.

Tom drags himself to the Slytherin table without daring to look back at Professor Dumbledore's – surely disappointed – face. He sits next to Thoros, who tries to smile at him but only manages a grimace. Of course, he must be just as disheartened as himself.

None of the kids, later also joined by Ertan Rosier, eat much for dinner. Tom himself also feels too depressed to find hunger.

That, or they all ate way too many chocolate frogs.

* * *

**The House of Slytherin**

Tom sits on a comfy, black couch in the Slytherin Common Room and – very reluctantly – admits to himself that the ambience is nice. It's dark and classic and luxurious – it reeks of power and galleons. He's never been somewhere that looks less like the Orphanage.

"Slytherins stick together," says Luella Runcorn, seventh year prefect and Head Girl. "We offer a united front – Any issues you have with your housemates stay inside the Common Room."

Tom thinks Head Boy has a nice ring to it.

"Ah – Miss Runcorn," says someone entering the Common Room. "Thank you for welcoming our first years. I hope everyone had a nice summer."

The man is short and fat; roughly the shape of an inverted spinning top. He has a shiny, bald pate and an unnaturally voluminous moustache – as if all the hair has run from his head to stand over his mouth. He's dressed in a waistcoat that must have costed a small fortune, but which could pass for opaque curtains, the way it hangs over his round belly.

All in all, Tom's never seen a more ridiculous-looking person in his life.

He trips on the rug as he climbs down the steps out of the entrance hole. The man _trips_. Can wizards even trip? Not Professor Dumbledore, that's for sure.

He introduces himself as their Head of House, professor Horace Slughorn. Tom kind of wants to puke.

"Mr Malfoy," the man says. "I trust your father is well?

"Mr Nott – What beautiful party your mother held this last August. You must tell her I appreciated the invitation.

"Ah, Mr Avery. Happy to have you in my House. I'm sure your brother's pleased, too. Send my regards to your uncle – I hope the Wizengamot is treating him well.

"Miss Gamp! Your grandfather's latest contribution to Transfiguration Today is truly remarkable."

"Miss Burke, I had the honour of working with your grandfather – Phineas Nigellus Black," he adds for the audience. "A most admirable Headmaster. Great man, great man."

His eyes slide over Tom as if he's not even there.

Tom's hit list currently reads:

\- Garrick Ollivander

\- The Sorting Hat

\- Horace Slughorn

* * *

**The Dorm**

Abraxas Malfoy can't stop talking about his father. Argo and Thoros, whose beds are closer to his, listen to him with the bored ease that comes with practice. They even nod in all the right places.

Ertan is sulking almost as much as Tom.

"Not all of us can be like Malfoy," he tells Tom, "but the Rosiers are still Sacred-Twenty-Eight."

Tom has already gathered that's the top rank in the wizarding world's Inbreeding Competition. He still fails to understand why it's a good thing.

"Slughorn cares more about power and galleons than blood," Mulciber, who's not as inbred as the rest, says.

Tom has neither of those, and is feeling rather miffed at the moment.

Abraxas' speech is still going strong.

"My uncle runs a very profitable potions business," Ertan says, and Mulciber rolls his eyes.

Did you know Abraxas' father owns twenty-three abraxans? Neither did Tom. And neither does he care. He's growing tired of all the useless bragging in the room. Slytherin is supposed to be the house of the ambitious, not the silver-spooned. But even their Head of House finds more merit in the latter.

"And my father's trading with the Germans is turning out to be a great investment," he goes on. Tom's certain he's just repeating what he's heard at home – he'll eat his wand if Ertan even knows what his father's daily work entails.

Abraxas doesn't seem like he'll end his monologue any time soon, and Tom's getting a headache.

He asks himself – what would Professor Dumbledore do?

He sets Malfoy's trunk on fire.

As expected, it works beautifully.

* * *

**A/N:** I expect I'll update rather frequently, given how chapters are short and it's easy to find a bit of time to write the scenes. Hope you enjoy the adventures of Tom the Truly-A-Gryffindor-At-Heart.


	4. Albus' Bad Feeling

**The Star Student**

Albus has always enjoyed the first week of school. The students are back from vacation and, while they've forgotten even more than they managed to learn, they're newly motivated. Laziness and worries and stress will come at a later date, but these first days of reacquainting are always blissful.

This is the first year – in almost twenty since he started teaching – that doesn't start with the same uplifting feeling.

"Albus," Brigita cheerfully greets him at lunch. "Lovely first years this time around. But you _must_ know – young Tom Riddle speaks so highly of you. And quite a bright student he is!"

"Ah, Albus, you felon!" says Herbert when he's walking up to his afternoon class with the sixth years. "Scouting young talent even before the school year starts," he laughs. "What are the rest of us to do?"

"Albus, good evening to you," says Galatea on Tuesday at dinner. "Oh, I'm in a great mood – first time in more than forty years of teaching that a first year manages an _incendio_ on his first day! And he's a fan of yours, too. I say you've yourself a lovely apprentice on the way."

Albus pinpoints this as the exact moment he starts to get uneasy.

It does get worse.

"Albus, what a brilliant child, Tom Riddle." Tressa says on Wednesday as they run into each other. "Asks quite a lot about you."

Tressa teaches Arithmancy, and last he checked the subject was a third-year elective. How Tom had a question for her after two days of school is a mystery to him.

"Ah, Albus, come in," greets Armando from behind his desk. However, instead of asking after his first-year Gryffindors as he would normally do, he says, "I met the most charming young man this morning. Found him waiting in front of the Gargoyle. I invited him up, of course – he was fascinated by my butterbeer bottle collection." He smiles fondly at the memory, and adds, "very interested in school regulations, too – I even went to fetch my copy of the original ones, written in the times of the Founders."

Albus can take a good guess about who he means.

"The way he speaks of you, you must have made quite an impression on him. Perhaps I'll have to consider bringing muggleborns their letters myself," Armando laughs.

Albus' smile is a bit strained as he nods along.

As Albus leaves his office, he gets the distinct impression that the Sorting Hat looks a little bit _charred_. But it must be his imagination.

* * *

**The Second Meeting**

Tom visits him after lunch on the first Wednesday of the year. He knocks on the door to his office, and Albus is certainly surprised to see him politely smiling there as the door creaks open. Tom's first Transfiguration class of the year is on Thursday morning. What question cannot wait a day?

The question he asks – after all mandatory pleasantries have been exchanged – is not one he had expected. It is, however, one he has been asked before.

"Do you know how to make the Philosopher's stone?"

Tom asks it the same way he asks everything else – with feverish intensity, more demand than request. Albus is relieved that Tom is, after all, just another student; entertaining greedy thoughts about riches and immortality. He is also, perhaps, slightly disappointed.

"Even if I did, Mr Riddle, I wouldn't share the secret with every student who asked," he answers, eyes twinkling.

Tom is obviously confused by the answer.

"Share it?" he scoffs. "Of course not," he says approvingly. "I'd just like to know if you _could _make it."

Oh?

"And, if I may ask, to what purpose?"

"To complete my list," Tom says, unrolling the piece of parchment he's been holding.

It's titled _The Great Achievements of Albus Dumbledore_. At a length of about seven feet, it's probably the most complete one Albus has ever seen. In the couple seconds he gets, he sees a few of his most important contributions to the advancement of general knowledge. The ones that strike him, however, aren't those.

Tom has managed to gather details as specific as his first-year grades, how many lessons it took him to successfully cast an _engorgio_, and at what age he published his first ever article.

Suddenly, the comments he's been getting from colleagues all week make a lot more sense.

"Mr Riddle –" He pauses, because what he wants to ask is just '_what on Merlin's beard are you doing_?' "What's this list for?"

Tom scrunches his face in a childlike way Albus knows most people find adorable. If it weren't for the fact that he's dreading his answer, he might have, too.

"To keep track, of course," Tom answers, as if unable to comprehend it isn't evident. "I need to know how I'm doing."

Oh, boy.

"Mr Riddle – Tom," he changes, and the boy beams. "There is no need to compare yourself to others… Everyone learns at their own pace, and what truly matters is bettering oneself. Students aren't expected to match my achievements."

Tom nods.

"Of course. We can't possibly expect this from everyone."

"From _anyone_, really," Albus insists.

Tom nods again. He certainly hears him, but does he listen?

"So," Tom says after a short pause, "the Philosopher's stone?"

Albus brings a hand to the bridge of his nose and lets out one long, tired sigh.


	5. Slytherin for the Win

**The A.P.W.B.D.F.C.**

"All right everyone," Tom says while standing in the middle of their dorm room. "Welcome to the first official meeting of the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club."

The members give him weak smiles – they're shy, the poor things – and nod along.

"As the A.P.W.B.D.F.C., our main objectives are three," he exposes. "One: Admire Professor Dumbledore. Two: Attempt to live up to his standards." His eyes travel toward Ertan, who's not the sharpest tool in his shed, and he adds, "to the best of our abilities. And three: Make Professor Dumbledore proud of us."

Thoros raises his hand.

"Are we supposed to follow that list?" he asks, his voice wavering.

_The Great Achievements of Albus Dumbledore _hangs on the wall nearest to the door, stuck close to the ceiling and reaching the floor.

"Good question," Tom says, and smiles encouragingly. Thoros' lips twitch, but the boy can't quite return the gesture. "I don't expect you to better Professor Dumbledore," he reassures them. "Just to _attempt_ to. Which is why it's necessary to set some goals."

"Make the Philosopher's stone?" asks Mulciber, who's sitting closest to the list, and looks a bit worried while reading it.

"That one's long term," Tom reassures him. "We'll start with the easy ones: mastering first-year spells. And in our first meeting, we'll focus on Transfigurations. We'll turn matches into needles, so that we're ready for tomorrow's class."

The news are received with more silence than excitement, strangely enough.

"Wait, you mean _now_?" asks Abraxas.

"When else?" They have double transfigurations first period, after all.

"But it's already eleven," says Argo. "Shouldn't we get some sleep?"

Sleep? While unprepared? How preposterous.

"The earlier your match turns pointy, the earlier you go to bed." Isn't it obvious?

The boys groan. Abraxas mutters something about his father.

Tom raises his wand towards the first trunk in his line of sight, but before he can cast his favourite spell, everyone's enthusiastically searching for a match.

Their first meeting is a categorical success.

* * *

**The First Class**

Albus has introduced many first years to the complex art of Transfigurations. After so many years teaching the subject, he's come to expect a few things. First, students tend to be both nervous and eager, which makes for a dangerous combination – he's ready to put out some fires. Second, hardly anyone ever succeeds in transfiguring a match into a needle during their first class.

Today, however, the mood is slightly different.

For some reason, five of his six Slytherins are having trouble staying awake. Tom's eyes, on the other hand, are open so wide Albus fears they'll dry. He wonders if the other kids, which come from prejudiced pureblood families, are pushing Tom aside – perhaps they spent the night having fun without the poor, orphan child?

Albus warns them all about the dangers of transfigurations and, to his surprise, the sleepy Slytherins make an extreme effort to note everything down.

Tom raises his hand so quickly he almost jumps out of his seat.

"Professor, if I may ask a question?" After Albus' nod, he goes on. "Is conjuring the exact opposite of vanishing?" he asks. "Meaning, are they arithmantical inverses?"

It takes Albus a couple seconds to process the question. The sight of his students panicking, however, makes him react.

"The answer is yes, Mr Riddle. However, these are all fifth year concepts…"

"How can vanishing be anything's inverse when it brings stuff to nothingness?" asks Thoros Nott then, "isn't 'nothing' a zero matrix?"

Albus hasn't seen a discussion of this level from anyone who's not in his O.W.L. class. What on Merlin's beard is up with these children?

The littlest Gryffindor in the front row is looking a little green. Margot Droope and William Alderton are looking at the Slytherins as if they've sprouted horns.

"Why don't we discuss this after class?" Albus suggests. "We really don't need to worry about such things until O.W.L.s, at least."

He hopes his words will help the rest of students relax. He stops the theory session and gives each of them a match – this way, they'll see they're all equally slow at first.

All six Slytherin boys manage on their first try.

Little Talbot Buchanan starts to cry.

Albus just wants the day to end.

* * *

**The First Rival**

Tom is beyond himself with happiness. Every single member of the A.P.W.B.D.F.C. has _excelled_. Professor Dumbledore must be so proud…

He waits with the rest of the boys for the Professor's extra lesson after class. It feels right, that he'd give them more of his time. They're the best, after all.

"I just don't understand how a zero matrix can be invertible," says Thoros, while Professor Dumbledore wastes his precious time consoling that dumb kid Buchanan.

"It's a good question," Tom praises, more impressed than he's willing to admit. Thoros has just become his favourite roommate.

While they wait, an older girl enters the classroom and walks straight to the Professor's desk. She drops a couple books on it, and gives them a sideways, annoyed glance. As if wondering what them little kids are doing there.

"Ah, Minerva!" says the Professor, "Right on time. I'll be with you in a second." He then walks to Tom and the boys, and says, "Mr Riddle, Mr Nott, will you excuse me? I'm afraid I promised to meet with Miss McGonagall first, to check on her Transfigurations side-project. Let's leave our exciting discussion for tomorrow."

He turns to the girl then, and Thoros and Irving have to drag Tom out of the class, the way he's stuck unmoving to his spot.

"Well, of course he'll listen to McGonagall first," says Margot Droope with a mean smirk as she passes them by. "She's his star pupil – I've heard Dumbledore will take her as an apprentice once she reaches her seventh year."

* * *

Tom's hit list currently reads:

\- Garrick Ollivander

\- The Sorting Hat (resistant to fire)

\- Horace Slughorn

\- Minerva McGonagall

\- Margot Droope


	6. Harper in Love

**The Rival Problem**

"Poisons?" asks Slughorn, clutching a large bag of caramelized pineapple. "Ah, you must've been reading ahead! Professor Merrythought warned me in advance," he says, getting closer and giving him a wink that feels very personal. Uncomfortably personal. "What is it that you wish to know?"

How to murder Minerva McGonagall is the answer that, sadly, he can't give.

"Are there untraceable poisons?" he asks.

"Plenty," Slughorn answers with a chuckle, "but none that we'll learn to brew in class."

Tom scowls. Will they ever learn anything useful?

"Don't you worry," says Slughorn, patting his head, "you won't find such things in this School."

So much for the _best_ wizarding school, then.

Maybe he can push her down the Astronomy tower? Ah – but how to be up there at the same time as her? Tom needs to learn more about McGonagall.

"You need to make a Gryffindor friend," he tells Ertan as they leave Potions class.

Ertan is sociable, and dumb enough to mingle with the Gryffindor kids. A perfect candidate.

"Why?" he complains. As Tom turns to twinkle at him, Ertan pales and quickly waves his hands in front of him. "Wouldn't Professor Dumbledore like it if you befriended one yourself?"

Ah, even the dumbest Slytherin has good ideas sometimes. Tom nods approvingly.

"Go bring me a Gryffindor kid to befriend," he tells him.

He's got more important things to do – Minerva McGonagall won't get herself into a tragic accident on her own.

* * *

**The Second-Best Class**

Tom pairs with Thoros and Irving in Herbology, because Abraxas awakes his urges to hex people, and that's something one shouldn't do in front of professors. Ertan and Argo will have to take one for the team, and endure him.

Next to them, and around their own Bouncing Bulb, sit Gamp, Max and Tripe – the most bearable of the Slytherin girls.

"Riddle," asks Gamp, "are you about to outshine us all again with your _brilliance_?"

She has a crush on him, the poor thing.

"Of course, Harper," he says, and smiles brightly.

Gamp's smile is a bit tense – she should relax, even if Tom's radiance is blinding.

"I think she was being sarcastic," says Thoros, who just doesn't understand girls.

"Nonsense," Tom corrects him.

"I was," says Gamp, who must be feeling embarrassed, and is now in denial.

"Good morning class!" interrupts professor Herbert Beery, who's easily the most cheerful man Tom's ever seen. "Are you ready to take on some Bouncing Bulbs?"

The class choruses a long "Yeeees".

"Then can you tell me what spell we need to use to make them behave, if their bounce's too bouncy?"

Tom raises his hand.

"Incendio!" he answers happily.

The boys around him flinch, and Harper Gamp flushes. Yes, such a big crush she has.

Tom just loves Herbology.

* * *

**The Lemon Drops**

"Ah – I'm glad I could answer your questions to your satisfaction," says Professor Dumbledore.

Tom wants to roll his eyes. Of course he could! The man's a genius.

"Thank you, Professor," says Thoros politely as he stands.

"Before you leave," he says, "a Lemon Drop?"

Tom eyes the little, yellow, muggle treats. He's had them in the orphanage – he's had plenty, because they're cheap.

He hates sweets.

He hates lemon.

"They're my favourite," says Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling powerfully.

"Thank you," Tom says, and elbows Thoros in the ribs.

"Me too, yes," says Thoros, who's probably never had a muggle thing so close to his delicate, pureblood face.

"Take the bag," offers the Professor, "share them with your friends."

And Thoros and Tom leave the office with two pieces in the mouth each, and a large bag in hand.

"Can I spit them?" asks Thoros. Or he tries to say it, because he's doing his best to not let his own saliva melt the candy, and his vocalization isn't at its best.

"No."


	7. Harper's Study Club

**The Gryffindor Friend**

Tom eyes the kid with a certain distaste. He's a bit dumpy, and his teeth could use a realignment, but at least it's not Talbot Buchanan.

"Friend," Tom says, trying his widest smile, "how are you?"

The kid looks rather suspicious. Perhaps because he's currently flanked by six Slytherins, a few of which aren't happy to see him.

"Riddle," the kid says back, "what do you want?"

Ah, a direct guy. Not the worst possible outcome. But how to gain his trust? Tom has never been too good with that.

He thinks to himself, what would Professor Dumbledore do in such a situation? He remembers a direct quote from _The Alchemy of Life_, which credits his mentor for saying '_Love conquers all'_.

As always, Professor Dumbledore provides the ideal solution.

"Ertan here," he says, dropping an arm on Ertan's shoulders, "has a crush on Minerva McGonagall."

"What?" Ertan spouts. Thoros and Argo struggle to smother their laughter.

"Don't be shy," Tom tells him, "Wilde here is a trustworthy friend."

"William," Dumpy corrects him, "William Alderton."

As if it matters.

"You'll help us out, won't you?" Tom asks William. "We just want to learn Minerva's schedule, give Ertan a chance to meet her alone."

William seems amused by the prospect of Minerva McGonagall being wooed by an eleven-year-old. Or perhaps by the thought she might flatten him for his daring.

"Sure," he says, "but if you confess to her, I want to be there."

Tom shakes his hand to close the deal, and everyone leaves the scene with satisfaction.

"Cheer up," Tom tells Ertan, who's the only one looking green. "Nobody will remember this when you're at an age to date."

Ertan's eyes twitch uncoordinatedly. Is he trying to twinkle? Good for him.

* * *

**The Girl in Love**

"Riddle," says Harper Gamp, as always flanked by Max and Tripe. "I've heard Malfoy babble to Avery," she says with a smirk, pleased with herself. "I want in in your little study group!"

Ah, girls in love…

"Harper," he says, "I don't have time for romance – I have a strict schedule of objective achievement. I need to learn the freezing spell before Wednesday."

Harper blanches.

"But that's a third-year spell!"

Well yes, it is. She at least knows the curriculum. He'd award her a couple points, if he were a prefect already.

"Very good," he praises her.

She flushes red again. Really, she's so obvious.

"Will you teach it to the boys?" she asks. "In your study club?"

Teach it? Well, why not? Harper has good ideas. Two more points.

"Sure."

"Then I'm coming," she says, fierce. "Whether you like it or not."

My, modern women are so aggressive. It seems Mrs Cole was right, for once.

* * *

**The New Member**

"Tom," Abraxas says, leaning against a chair in despair, "isn't this enough?"

Abraxas' fire-dwelling salamander scurries away from its bowl and falls onto his bed, setting the pillow on fire.

Tom raises a brow that speaks for itself. Abraxas flushes.

"It's a third-year spell!" he complains. Such a spoilt boy, really.

Harper waves her wand and a wave of icy-cold air extinguishes the fire, and cools down Abraxas' salamander. She looks smugly pleased with herself.

"Two more points, Harper," Tom says, impressed.

If she's that good, then he'll allow her to stay. As long as her love doesn't hinder their progress, of course.

"Stop awarding me points! You're not a Prefect," she reminds him.

Yet.

"You could all learn from Harper," he says to his boys.

None of them look too pleased about having a girl in their room. Maybe because Harper's felt the need to call them out on their disorganized trunks and their messy beds. Honestly, Tom rather agrees with her.

"Yes, Perfect Harper," Thoros says, looking grumpy. He's not used to someone else being best after Tom. "Now you can cling to your second spot in class, you must be happy," he tells her.

Harper sniffs, disdainful.

"Speak less and try harder, Nott – Not all of us are thus talented."

Thoros narrows his eyes.

"Yes, not all of us can be _Tom_."

Really, Tom thinks while feeling flattered, his friends look up to him so much.

"Indeed," she agrees, flushing again. "You must think so every time you look at the mirror."

Tom leans back on his chair, smug. Goodness, is this a flattery contest?

Then, inexplicably, Thoros and Harper pull out their wands and start throwing spells at each other. How odd – they were agreeing in absolutely everything. Thankfully, the worst they can do is freeze each other's body parts, and therefore the duel ends up rather quickly.

"Well, at least you learnt the charm well," Tom says as he unfreezes them. "Five points to each."

Harper screeches.

The greedy girl, must have wanted ten.


	8. Albus' Confusion

**The Study Club Confusion**

Wilde brings back a rather neat list – who knew the kid had it in him?

"It's William, I keep telling you," he insists, "William Alderton."

"_Who_ is?" he asks.

The kid just rolls his eyes and hands him Minerva McGonagall's schedule. Despite his good work, Tom sees a problem in it – It's packed. There's hardly a spot in it which may suggest the girl is ever alone.

Except, perhaps, for patrols.

"Tom," Abraxas says as he studies Wilde's list, back in their own dorm, "what will you do? Patrols are done in pairs, right? That's two fifth years together."

Abraxas makes a good point. McGonagall can't possibly be as good as himself, but she's older and more experienced – and Professor Dumbledore's favourite. She must be decent, at least. Rushing to take action might not do him any favours.

"You're right," Tom admits with a sigh. "We'll have to be patient – let's start with gathering information."

"About her?" Abraxas asks, passing the list to Argo.

"About who?" asks Harper, entering their room.

"Can't you knock?" asks Thoros, glaring at her. "This isn't a public space, Gamp."

"Not my fault you decide to run the Study Club in your room," she says. "Who're you talking about?"

She peeks over Argo's shoulder and throws a confused look at the schedule.

"McGonagall?" she asks. "What for?"

He shouldn't have written "Minerva McGonagall's Schedule" on top of the parchment, perhaps.

Tom sighs – there's no hiding it now.

"To take over her place as Professor Dumbledore's apprentice," he says.

Harper is, perhaps, more confused.

"Why would you want that?"

Thoros snorts, and Harper turns to glare at him.

"You don't know what you joined, do you?" he asks, mocking.

Irving points toward _The Great Achievements of Albus Dumbledore, _hanging on the wall. Ertan waves toward the great banner hanging between his and Tom's beds, which reads A.P.W.B.D.F.C. in golden letters over a starry background.

Tom must admit, despite his shortcomings, that Ertan has impressive art skills.

"What is this?" she asks, looking a bit apprehensive.

"Welcome," Thoros says, smiling happily, "to the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club."

Ah – it's good to see Thoros feeling so happy, so proud of their initiative. Professor Dumbledore doesn't leave anyone indifferent, evidently.

"Have a lemon drop, Harper," Tom offers.

Thoros, for some mysterious reason, finds it hilarious.

* * *

**The Preferred Student**

Tom now knows what Minerva McGonagall does during the spot highlighted as _question mark_ in Wednesday evenings.

She meets Professor Dumbledore.

Alone.

Tom's so jealous he almost has a stroke. Thoros has to push his back to hold him straight, and Irving has to take his wand – just in case. Tom sometimes gets rather hex-happy.

The Professor answers the door and, ever so kind, asks them to return tomorrow, when he'll have time for their questions.

"I'm a lucky man," he says, chuckling, "to have such applied students. Your interest in Transfigurations is touching."

Tom smiles as warmly as he knows how to – the way that makes Mrs Cole's friends melt a little, and give him candy. No that he likes candy, but the envious looks on the other kid's faces are definitely worth it.

He supposes he looks like those idiot kids right now.

And MgGonagall? The worst part is, she doesn't even look smug.

Tom is _that much_ beneath her.

* * *

**The Troubled Professor**

Albus can't deny he's slightly concerned about the Slytherin boys. It's not an unusual occurrence – he rather likes to keep an eye on them, as they tend to hold prejudices against their muggleborn peers.

However, the reason for his concern is uncommon this year.

He has six essays on his table – Abraxas Malfoy, Thoros Nott, Irving Mulciber, Ertan Rosier, Argo Avery and Tom Riddle – which are at a level he's most unused to. Even Minerva's essays, while definitely outstanding, were never _this_ good.

Most surprisingly, they're all different. The children aren't copying from Tom.

After the first essay, the one on Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, Albus feared the kids were forcing Tom to write them all.

Right now, he's not so certain.

Tom, of course, is brilliant – he could write ten different versions and excel in them all. His interest in the subject is remarkable, and he's already following fifth year texts. It reminds Albus of his own youth, but perhaps with a more… obsessive cadence.

Because Tom's need to prove himself certainly borders obsession.

But he's not pondering on Tom's perhaps praise-deficient upbringing. Not tonight, at least. No – what he wants to know is why _five_ kids who seem bored to death with his subject are handing in excellent essays and taking notes with zealous passion.

If Tom was writing for all of them, they certainly wouldn't find the need to.

So what's going on?

Albus hears a knock on the door. It's almost curfew on a Saturday – it can only be one student.

"Good evening, Tom," he says, holding the door open. "And Mr Malfoy, Mr Nott."

Tom beams at him, and the other two nod tiredly. They look like they'd rather be in bed already.

"Good evening Professor," he says. "Can we bother you for a couple of minutes?"

Albus doesn't remember visiting professors every other night during his own first year. But well, what can he do?

He lets them in.

As he's about to close the door, a small foot gets in the way. Harper Gamp pushes it open once more, looking like she's ran half a marathon.

"Don't leave me behind!" she yells at the boys.

Well, this is a new development.

"Ah, Harper," says Tom, looking pleased. "I applaud your motivation – have five more points."

Albus is certain the girl would physically assault Tom if he weren't present. Mr Nott is overtaken by a fit of giggles. Mr Malfoy lets himself drop against a chair and takes out a piece of parchment with the face of the condemned.

Just what on Merlin's wand is going on this year?


	9. Burke's Mistake

**The Burke Situation**

Tom finds Harper crying in a lone corner of the third floor. It's unexpected. Girls tend to cry, he thinks, but Harper Gamp never looked the type. She's very different from Amy Benson – she might be the best out of his fellow club members, even.

Harper sniffs and says, "Oh, it's you."

Well, yes, indeed – it's him. Who else?

"Thought you might be Burke," she says when he asks, "here to _gloat_."

Beatrice Burke isn't someone Tom has spoken much to. Mostly because she thinks non-inbred people are beneath her. Tom assumes he shouldn't bother trying to find a reason behind it – dumb kids are too hard to understand.

"She makes fun of me all the time," she says, even though Tom hasn't asked. "Now she's also saying I've got a crush on you," she glares at him.

Tom sighs.

"As Professor Dumbledore says, Harper, there's never shame in love."

Harper stops crying, but she still looks upset.

"Riddle, I'm _not_ in love with you," she insists.

Tom nods along and smiles. Better humour her lest she start crying again. "Of course not," he says.

Harper sniffs again and moves away from her corner, looking a bit more like her usual self.

"Whatever," she says, "Burke's a lot meaner about my marks than about this."

About Harper's marks?

"But Burke's are much, much worse," he points out, in case she hasn't noticed.

She should use the information to strike back, he thinks.

"She says boys don't like smart girls," Harper says, blushing a little.

Huh, really? Tom doesn't like anyone much, but he certainly detests dumb girls more than smart ones. That's what he tells her.

"Who cares what you think?" she asks, rolling her eyes.

Such strong denial.

* * *

**The Slytherin Brawl**

Burke, Tom is forced to admit, is insufferable.

"Haven't you heard me?" she asks. "I'm speaking to you, you mudblood pauper."

Yes, he's heard her. Everyone in the Common Room has heard her. The Ravenclaws up in their high tower have heard her. Hell, Tom wouldn't be surprised if Headmaster Dippet comes down complaining about the screeching.

"Oh look," she says to Joyce Fawley, her best friend. "The poor thing's deaf, too."

He'll be soon, if she keeps talking.

"Are you really not going to answer?" she insists.

Tom wonders if the Prefects would approve of him setting her on fire. He'd do everyone a favour, wouldn't him? But the chuckles he's hearing around the Common Room indicate he might face some opposition.

Such a dilemma.

"He's heard you," answers Ertan, who apparently dislikes her just as much as Harper. "He's ignoring you, you twit. Learn the difference."

Oh, and he thought Ertan was a spineless idiot. Between this and his arts skills he might ascend to Tom's favourite. Sorry, Thoros – better luck next week.

"Who're you to call someone a twit when you're dumber than a flobberworm?" strikes back Walburga Black, Burke's older cousin.

"Rosier's not dumb." Payge Tripe, one of Harper's friends, unexpectedly jumps into the fight. "_You're_ dumb."

Gods, children fights are the stupidest things.

"No," Walburga screams back, "_you're_ –"

And splash! A batch of freshly sprouted Whizzing Worms strikes her right on her flat nose.

Tom stays seated as spells and joke products fly over his head and all the while he wonders if there's a way to accelerate childhood into adulthood. While he contemplates the immaturity of his peers, a raspberry muffin hits the back of his head.

He's managed to sting the butts of two second-years with well-aimed hexes when Luella Runcorn, the Head Girl, interrupts the brawl.

Collective detention doesn't sound like a good way to spend his Sunday.

* * *

**The Precious Advice**

Tom enjoys a warm cup of tea in his favourite room in the world: the Professor's Office.

"So," says Professor Dumbledore, frowning. "Your fellow Slytherins aren't being too kind?"

"Burke," Tom specifies. "No, not kind at all."

Kind is definitely not the word to use here.

The Professor sips his tea and nods sagely. In that gesture Tom can see his infinite wisdom.

"People sometimes can't accept that which is different," he says. "And never that which threatens their worldview. Miss Burke cannot comprehend the fact that you, a student with a muggle background, could be so talented – it clashes against all she's been taught. She can't help but lash out in response."

So, she's jealous. He'd grasped that much.

"She's mean to Harper, too," he says.

She must be jealous of her marks as well! Tom is proud of himself for having understood the strange brain processes of dumb girls.

"Ah, I thank you for bringing it to my attention," the Professor says. "You're very kind to do so."

Huh.

This is the first time he's ever been called kind in his life. Is trying to understand dumb kids a gesture of kindness?

It must be, Tom decides, for it's certainly a rather worthless sacrifice. Only kind people do those.

"What would you do, Professor? In my situation," he asks, because fire doesn't seem to be an option this time.

The Professor's eyes twinkle and Tom feels warm just from it.

"Show her, Tom. Show her, just like you've been doing already, that blood is meaningless. That it is prejudice and not knowledge that guides her words, and that her opinions are unjustified." He smiles at him. "In other words, Tom, just be yourself."

So, prove that he's better than her.

Tom nods happily.

Oh, he can do that.

* * *

Tom's hit list currently reads:

\- BEATRICE BURKE

\- Minerva McGonagall

\- Garrick Ollivander

\- The Sorting Hat (resistant to fire)

\- Horace Slughorn

\- Margot Droope


	10. Best Served Cold

**The Revenge Meeting**

Tom stands tall in the middle of the room, his fellow club members sitting on their respective beds – Harper on Tom's – as they listen.

"I've called this sudden meeting to discuss a most important matter," he says in his best serious voice. "The Burke situation."

"Burke?" Thoros asks. "Because she started a fight the other day?"

"No, not at all," he says. Well, maybe a little. "It's because Professor Dumbledore has entrusted a mission to us."

Well, to him, but the other members should be allowed to feel special, too. Tom wouldn't want to crush their dreams early on.

"Dumbledore?" Abraxas is startled. Then he pales, and corrects, "I mean – _Professor_ Dumbledore?"

"A mission?" asks Ertan.

"To do with _Burke_?" asks Harper, suspicious.

"Indeed," Tom confirms. "A most important endeavour: we must teach Burke a lesson." He stops for a dramatic pause and revels in the way all eyes are set on him. "We must show Burke that _I'm_ better than her."

There's a brief, confused silence.

"Professor Dumbledore," repeats Irving slowly, "wants _us_ to show _Beatrice Burke_ that _you _are better than her?"

Do his club members look mistrustful? It must be a trick of the light.

"Yes," Tom confirms. "He literally said so." Well, almost literally. It counts.

Another prolonged silence. What's going on today? The members are usually talkative.

"Why should we show her that _you_ are better than her?" asks Harper again, standing from the bed and frowning heavily.

"Well, _I_ _am_."

She can't really find a way to deny that statement.

"Did Dumb–Professor Dumbledore say _how_?" asks Argo.

Did he? Well, yes, he actually did.

"He said to just be myself."

There is, then, the most synchronized answer Tom's ever heard – better than the choir kids, his roommates perfectly harmonize a single sentence.

"Set her on fire."

Harper throws them a frightened look.

"Are you lot _mental_?"

Once again, Harper proves to be superior to the rest. Tom's obviously thought of this one already. If he's asking, it's because he wants a _better_ idea.

"Ten points today, Harper. You deserve them."

It's frankly strange how she sometimes starts screaming for no reason, though.

Ugh, _girls_.

* * *

**The First Revenge**

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" insists Burke in Monday Charms class, face reddening after each failed attempt.

"Maybe it's the intonation?" Tom suggests as the whole class, Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike, stare.

"I don't need your help," Burke hisses.

Professor Goshawk approaches, looking worried.

"Miss Burke," she chastises, "Tom's the best student in your year. Perhaps you should consider accepting his assistance after class?"

She is, after all, the only student who hasn't managed to levitate her feather.

Burke's luck doesn't seem to improve throughout the week, as proved by Wednesday Potions class.

"But I did stir three times! And clockwise!" she complains.

Professor Slughorn looks sceptical. Burke's gooey, seaweed-green potion seems to disagree with her statement.

"Take a good look at Tom's work," he suggests, waving toward the other end of the class, from where Tom modestly accepts the compliment. "That's how it should look after the first stage – more chartreuse than… _this_."

Burke grumbles as Slughorn moves away.

A Hufflepuff huffs in the background and Tom thinks he hears a whispered "so haughty for someone who's this bad." And an answer, "Well, half-Black, you know?"

Burke cries out in Herbology class, making a nearby Ravenclaw – Oddpick, Tom thinks he's called – jump in surprise.

"It _pricked_ me!" she complains.

"Miss Burke!" Professor Beery says as he rushes to examine the bleeding wound in her hand. "Didn't I say to deal with Spiky Bushes only from afar?"

"But I did," she swears, crying fat, ugly tears.

Oddpick snorts. "Yeah," he says, "of course you did. Never your fault, is it?"

The class chuckles as Burke leaves for the infirmary, followed by her loyal Joyce Fawley.

As she passes Tom by, she glares and furiously whispers, "I _know_ you're doing this to me."

Tom smiles sweetly – again, candy-stealing sweet – and whispers back.

"_Prove it_."

* * *

**The First Success**

"Tom," starts Ertan at the beginning of their Friday afternoon meeting, "can we stop sabotaging Burke already?"

Tom takes a moment to consider the proposal.

"Opinions?" he asks the rest.

"I'm tired of whispering counter-spells all the time," complains Abraxas, "it's hard enough to take care of my own work."

True. Abraxas isn't as talented as Tom; he's got his own worries to deal with.

"That's why we take turns," Harper reminds him. "You only got charms. Slipping a leaping toadstool into her potion was way harder."

"I think we've shown the whole school she's the last in every class," adds Argo. "No need to keep it up – even the Hufflepuffs make fun of her now."

Indeed; reputation well and truly ruined. A masterful job, Tom thinks with satisfaction. Professor Dumbledore must be so proud!

"Well," intervenes Thoros, "we could just have a go every now and then?" He smiles a mean smirk. "Sometimes classes get boring, you know?"

Tom smiles back. Thoros is definitely his favourite this week.


	11. Way Too Many Clubs

**The Competition**

Tom watches them through the corner of his eye. Their numbers are small, but it's undeniable that they dominate the Slytherin Common Room.

Carvell Burke, Beatrice's older brother, and Walburga Black have just joined _The Club_. Tom thinks this doesn't speak well of the rest of its members – clearly, Slughorn has very poor judgement.

"I've heard Hazard Horton was scouted by the _Falcons_," whispers Ertan, in awe, pointing at one of their companions.

"Easy, when your grandfather manufactures their brooms," says Abraxas, rolling his eyes.

Abraxas is not happy he hasn't been scouted yet.

"Doesn't _everyone_ enter the Slug Club thanks to their families, though?" asks Harper. "The Blacks are a given. Odell Doge's father sits in the Wizengamot," she counts, "the Hyslop twins' great-aunts publish in Challenges in Charming every other month, and Oda Gore – the Gores have been in the Ministry for _centuries_."

"At least Luella Runcorn is Head Girl," says Irving pointing to the tallest girl, "that's something she did herself."

Tom wonders if she'd have reached Head Girl without being a Runcorn but, since she shares school year with Dorea _Black_, she must be given _some_ credit.

"I don't like them," he says.

The whole of the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club turns to look at him.

"Slughorn's not the worst professor," he admits, because that title belongs to Professor Binns, "but what's there to admire about him?" he asks.

Harper shrugs, which Tom takes to mean "nothing". The boys look at each other, as if having trouble understanding him. It's a look they share often, so Tom isn't too worried about it.

"I don't think they _admire_ him," says Thoros carefully, "they just join for the reputation."

Tom frowns.

"Whose?" he asks. And then thinks better of it, and adds, "Why would you join the Fan Club of someone you don't admire?"

They exchange _The Look_ again. It's happening rather frequently today, Tom thinks.

"Tom…" says Argo, very, very slowly, "The Slug Club is _not_ Slughorn's Fan Club."

Uh? It isn't?

* * *

**The First Challenge**

"Dear fellow members," Tom starts, standing on his usual spot in the centre of their dorm room, "it's my pleasure to announce the arrival of the first official _challenge_ of the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club."

Tom is rather pleased with how adult he sounds. Professional, even.

As he opens his mouth to continue, he gets interrupted.

"The Christmas midterms?" asks Harper, looking at The Great Achievements of Albus Dumbledore, hanging on the wall.

Tom harrumphs, annoyed that Harper stole his grand announcement.

"Yes," he grumbles. "We'll soon have the first tests ever here at Hogwarts and, of course, we must excel in them."

Abraxas raises his hand, worried, and asks, "Do we have to do better than Professor Dumbledore did?"

Better? How ridiculous.

"Of course not," Tom reassures him, "equally well will suffice."

Ertan groans audibly. Maybe he wanted to aspire to more?

"But Professor Dumbledore did those like _a_ _century_ ago," Argo protests. "What if they were easier back then?"

Tom hasn't considered this possibility.

"Fair enough," he concedes, "I'll allow a score up to ten per cent below that of Professor Dumbledore's."

He thinks that's gracious enough.

No that he'll allow _himself_ the same, of course. The glint in Harper's eyes tells him she's thinking along the same lines.

That, or it's a love gaze. Always hard to tell with her.

* * *

**The Theatre Club**

Tom joins the rest of the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Fan Club in their room after Wednesday Herbology class. Abraxas and Argo are arguing about which of their Manors has the vaster grounds, Thoros and Harper are bickering about the correct wand movements for the softening charm, and Irving and Ertan are quietly reading on their respective beds. All fairly normal for an evening in the –

Wait.

_Ertan_ knows how to read?

"What're you doing?" Tom asks him.

Ertan drops the stack of papers he's holding together and sighs. Dramatically.

"I'm playing Digby Pimpletorn," he says.

What?

"He's been scouted," says Thoros with a snicker, turning to face them. "For Professor Beery's new play."

Thoros quickly learns it's a mistake to show Harper one's back, unless one wishes for a softer bum.

"Scouted?" Tom repeats, ignoring the fight breaking behind him. "For a play?"

"Professor Beery leads the Theatre Club," Ertan says morosely. "And he wants me to join."

Tom does agree that Ertan has a flair for the dramatic – second only to Abraxas – and an artistic drive, but that doesn't mean he's cut out for theatre. Because theatre requires _memorization_, and Ertan still fails to remember Professor Dumbledore's full name nine out of every ten attempts.

The kid's just a bit dumb.

"You don't have time for two clubs," he tells him. "Drop Theatre."

He won't allow any of the Fan Club's kids to underperform in class. The firsts tests are coming right before Christmas. There's too much at stake!

"I want to!" Ertan whines. "But Professor Beery said I was perfect to play Digby… He just won't listen to me."

"Nonsense," Tom dismisses. "You can't possibly be perfect for anything."

He'll talk to Professor Beery, he reassures Ertan, who's now started to sniffle – poor thing, he must really _hate_ theatre.


End file.
